Mirrors Never Sleep

An ode to a favorite haunt

I often wonder of its continued existence.

After the last patron staggered out into the cold,

After sharpening their knives,

Cooks and chefs hung their hats

Chairs trekked onto the tables,

A floor of peanuts got  swept up,

The broom took a lazy stroll into the closet

Waiters  kicked off their cushy shoes

Donning their oxfords,

The cat relaxed and delved into his

Chef-special-trout-for-feline,

The finished counting receipts,

The boss poured himself a snifter of brandy,

The shoed signs of exhaustion

Reflecting the mundane for a day,

Darkening gradually

As one of life’s daily sameness passed,

Awaiting next day’s duplicate reflection.